


Little Lion Man

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, M/M, Mumford & Sons, Post Reichenbach, little lion man, martin freeman - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:11:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade tells John to get out of the flat and have some fun. Watson reluctantly finds himself alone at a deserted karaoke bar in the middle of the night. He can't believe his eyes when a familiar black haired and blue eyed man steps onto the stage. (HINT HINT, ELBOW ELBOW, WINK WINK, IT'S SHERLOCK)<br/>It's pretty short, but kissing is a definite yes and Sherlock's hilarious ignorance to flirting is in there somewhere as well.<br/>Lyrics from Mumford and Sons' Little Lion Man appear in this work. If you haven't heard this song, listen to it. It is perfect for JohnLock. Per. Fect.<br/>Sherlock is very, very, slightly OOC, and this is John's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Lion Man

I looked around the nearly empty karaoke bar. The bartender was wiping down the counter, a couple sat in the dimly lit corner, but they seemed to be so enamored with each other, I doubted they knew it was nearly 3 a.m. The stage was deserted.  
Lestrade had left earlier with some girl. He had insisted that I get out of the flat, “Live your life. Just because he’s gone, doesn’t mean you have to punish yourself.”  
I appreciate what he’s trying to do, but ever since that day, I haven’t wanted to do anything, much less go partying.  
A girl walks out of the bathroom. She looks at me like I’m a homeless bum. I probably do look like a bum. I’ll admit that it rather looks as if my clothes are wearing me, I’ve lost so much weight. I haven’t shaved in days, and I haven’t gotten my hair trimmed since-  
Stop. I tell myself. Don’t think about him. At that very moment, a black haired man who looked eerily like the very man I was trying to avoid thinking about stepped onto stage.  
I looked around, no one else seemed to notice.  
Turning around, I nearly jumped out of my seat. The man was looking directly at me.  
No, I thought. This can’t be. This is impossible. There’s no-  
My breath caught in my throat. The blue eyed man started to sing.  
“My God,” I murmured. I never knew he could sing like that. He sounded like an angel.  
I looked around to see if anyone was hearing what I was hearing. The couple in the corner seemed to think they were the only ones in the bar because there was a considerable amount of grouping going on. The bartender was nowhere to be seen. I craned my neck to the other side. The girl who had looked at me funny was biting her lip and staring seductively at the man on stage.  
He still had his eyes on me. The refrain started:  
And it was not your fault but mine,  
And it was your heart on the line,  
I really fucked it up this time,  
Didn’t I my dear?  
I heard a sigh of adoration from the girl to my left, but my gaze was locked on him.  
His eyes were closed on the last note. His voice broke and his eyelashes fluttered open. Blue eyes met mine. He suddenly wiped his cheek with his coat sleeve and stepped off stage. He hesitantly walks toward my table and sits down. A million things to say run through my head in an instant, but instead I croak, “I didn’t know you could sing like that.”  
A smile tugs at his lips, then his face gets serious again and he leans forward.  
“Look, I’m really sorry and I know that you probably hate me now and I completely understand but Moriarty was there and he told me that if I-”  
My lips stopped the words from coming out of his mouth. He tenses up, then relaxes into me. I finally pull away.  
I smile at the astonished look on his face.  
“You-you mean you’re not mad?” he asks, incredulous.  
I laughed for the first time in months.  
“Oh, I’ll probably be furious in the morning, but right now, I’m just too relieved.”  
Sherlock smiled like an eight year old boy on Christmas. I had almost forgotten that we weren’t the only ones in the bar. The girl from the table to ours either didn’t see us kiss, or was a complete dunce, because she walked over and said to Sherlock, “Hey hottie.”  
He scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion, but didn’t say anything.  
“You’ve got quite a singing voice. Tell me, did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”  
Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed even more. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.  
“Are you implying that I’m Satan?”  
I had to cover my mouth from bursting into laughter. The girl looked at him like he was crazy and stalked off.  
Sherlock turns to me, the confused look still on his face.  
“I don’t understand,” he says.  
I chuckle and push him towards the stage.  
“Go sing. I intend on becoming marvelously drunk.”


End file.
